


Heist of the Century

by awritingbowtie



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:52:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awritingbowtie/pseuds/awritingbowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The misadventures of an eccentric bank robber. If you're looking for tricycle chases and unusually sized cucumbers, you came to the right place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a fucking cucumber.

    He never expected that his day would go like this. Of all the ways he expected the robbery to go south, this was most certainly not one of them. An absurdly long cucumber in one hand and a plastic handlebar in the other, he was being chased by a similarly armed cop. The rest of his crew had left him behind after speeding off in their getaway vehicle, and he had to get creative. He had spotted two bright pink tricycles on the sidewalk outside the bank, and had known if he was going to get away, he might as well do it creatively.  
  
    An odd thing he had noticed about the tricycles was that, on the baskets on the front of both, there were these absolutely ludicrously sized cucumbers. He could have shown up to a Rennaisance Fair and challenged someone to a legitimate duel with one of them, he remarked to himself silently before hopping on and taking off down from atop the slightly steep hill upon which the bank was situated.  
  
    Most of the other officers had already taken off in pursuit of the rest of his crew, as they actually had the money and a vehicle. There was, however, one cop who spotted him and had no vehicle either. So the officer hopped on the other tricycle and brandished the cucumber as he set off in pursuit.  
  
    "Drop the pickle and pull over!" the officer yelled. Pickle? Clearly, the criminal thought, this is a cucumber.  
  
    "Cucumber! And you'll never catch me!" The criminal yelled, trying to sound as serious as possible from atop his bright pink tricycle, moving only slightly faster than the afternoon joggers.  
  
    As the hill they were riding down bottomed out, it became less advantageous to be on the tricycle. Realizing this, the criminal hopped off and broke into a dead sprint towards the park nearby. The officer followed suit. Soon, they came to a playground. The children and parents, upon seeing a hockey-masked man in all black wielding a ridiculously large cucumber rush into the playground, hurriedly vacated the premises.  
  
    The cop reached the playground, and yelled, "Drop the fucking pickle and get on the ground!" The cop advanced, holding the cucumber in an amateurish approximation of a dueling stance.  
  
    The criminal, a decent fencer, dropped into a proper fencing stance with his cucumber, and growled, "En garde!" He rapidly advanced and sidestepped a clumsy chop from the officer's cucumber, and followed up by smacking the officer across the face with his, then kicking the officer to the ground. He quickly took the officer's tazer, tazed him dazed, and ran off into the distance.  
  
    Once he had escaped the park, he was now faced with a dilemma. He was dressed like someone who had just robbed a bank, and had indeed just robbed a bank. He had also assaulted a cop with a cucumber of an absolutely silly length, after leading him on a chase on pink tricycles. But he felt the whole bank robber getup was slightly more relevant.  
  
    Recalling that there was a jogging trail in the park that led to a seldom visited graveyard, he decided he could brave the journey back through the park given he was still armed with his trusty cucumber and the officer's tazer and the only cop there couldn't beat him in single combat. He set off on a brisk, casual jog down the trail, and veered into the graveyard. The backpack he'd been wearing was packed with a change of clothes that included black jeans, a pair of slip on sneakers, and a plain long sleeved gray shirt. It also included the sawed off shotgun he'd just used to rob the bank, and now added to his arsenal, the cucumber and tazer.  
  
    After he'd changed and packed his armaments, he took out his phone and texted to one of his companions in bank robbery, "I can't believe you just stood me up like that. If you're still interested in that date, I'll be at the cafe." Innocent enough, he figured. He was slightly peeved that they left without him, but nothing bad had come of it for him. He set off for the cafe that he and his friends always met at.  
  
    Cup o 'cino, the sign read in white lettering over the cafe in the middle of a strip of shops. He walked in and took a seat at a table that gave him a good view of the television, which was currently showing the news.  
  
    "...no word on the location of the suspects, or their identities. One suspect was apparently seen leaving the scene on a pink tricycle with a large pickle, pursued by an officer, who, inexplicably, was following him in the same manner. No word as of yet on how that ended, but both the officer and suspect were seen entering the park..." God damn it, the criminal thought, it's a fucking cucumber. He stopped his outrage at the mislabeling of vegetables to listen again to the reporter, "According to an eyewitness, the criminal was last seen in all black clothing and a small black backpack, wearing a hockey mask and holding a pickle of 'menacing size' to quote the witness."

    He went over to the counter and ordered an espresso, then went back to his seat and intended to keep watching the report. However, as he looked through the glass of the cafe's storefront, he saw his partners in crime walking towards the cafe. They walked in and took a seat at the table with him, and their backpacks landed with a very audible thud on the floor.  
  
    He silently sipped his coffee, and motioned them towards the counter. They went and got their own drinks, and they sat briefly and watched the news, "...were seen escaping in a dark blue SUV, manufacturer unknown. They apparently have a background in explosives and have access to military grade explosives. They blew open the vault and stole an unknown amount of money before escaping. Also stolen were the previously mentioned pickles and tricycles..."  
  
    "For fuck's sake, they're cucumbers," the criminal whispered.  
  
    One of his companions spoke, "What kind of asshole steals a tricycle?" she chuckled.  
  
    "Better yet, why the hell did these weirdos have big pickles in the baskets of the tricycles?" the other asked, the only one who even thought it was odd, judging by the others' looks.  
  
    "John, not our place to judge," the one who had wielded a pickle as a sword said indignantly, "And honestly Chris, the better question is, what kind of asshole jumps on the other trike and chases him?"  
  
    Chris considered for a moment, then said "Well Ed you raise a good point, but consider this," she flipped him off and sipped her cappuccino.

    Ed pretended to look taken aback by the gesture gasping and dramatically covering his mouth. "Rude," he chuckled. "Wasn't someone else supposed to come this time too?" he asked about the new addition to his heist crew, who was hired as a distraction.


	2. Too Spooky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not for the easily srooked.

     "He's a tad preoccupied," Chris remarked, but her tone suggested it was no big deal. Moments later, a man in a skeleton morphsuit dashed by the Cup O' Cino window, cackling and swinging his arms wildly.  
  
    "Fucking hell Jasper," John whispered to himself as five cops ran by the window after Jasper the Skeleton-Man. The three of them picked up their bags and walked out.  
  
    "So back to my place then?" Ed asked, "Speaking of, where's the car?" In response, John pulled out his phone and dialed a number. They sat for a moment before a car down the street from them exploded.  
  
    Ed jumped, but John calmly stated, "Over there."  
  
    Chris laughed as Ed collected himself and asked, frustrated, "Was that honestly necessary you pyromaniac? My house is across the damned city!" He scratched his head and sighed, "Well, better get walking."  
  
    Chris, concerned, asked "What about Jasper?"  
  
    John threw his head back and let out a short burst of laughter, "Jasper's gonna be fine. As a matter of fact, he'll be at Ed's house."  
  
    Ed looked surprised, but relieved. They walked the several miles back to his house in silence, their packs heavy and their spirits high.  
  
    When they walked through the front door into the spacious foyer, they were greeted by the sight of a tall twig of a man laying down the length of Ed's black leather couch, his feet portruding over the edge of one armrest and his head on the other. He was snoring.  
  
    John walked across the room and pulled Jasper to the green shag carpeted floor. "Wake up you actual useless sack of bones," John grinned.  
  
    He landed with a thud, face down. "Questionable design choice, but at least it's not bare-bones," Jasper jabbed as he sprung back up to his feet. "Sorry if I spooked you. I thought I could lay my bones to rest here," he looked to John, who appeared existentially depressed that Jasper was speaking, "But apparently not. That was cold John, bone chilling even." He ducked a haymaker from John and walked over to Ed and Chris, who were still standing just inside the doorway. "When we left you behind, I thought you were boned; by the way, I'm Jasper." He extended his hand, clearly bony even beneath the bones of the costume.  
  
    "A pleasure, Jasper," he shook his hand. "As for me being left behind, I'm sure Chris knew I could handle myself. Besides, with a distraction like you, there was next to no risk."  
  
    "I gave them the poltergeist treatment," he said as John handed him a backpack he'd been putting money into from his own pack during the conversation.  
  
    "Jasper, would you care to spend the day with me out of the costume tomorrow?" Ed asked him, an eyebrow cocked.  
  
    Jasper stood still, and would likely appear stunned if it weren't for the skeleton mask he was wearing. "Yes," he responded, "I'll see you to-marrow then." He walked out the door and sprinted down the street before climbing onto a roof at the end of the street and disappearing around the corner.

  
    Jasper jumped from rooftop to rooftop until the buildings grew further apart. Across the alley he was overlooking, a fire escape beckoned for him to jump over. He took a few steps back and cleared the gap with ease, his fingers now gripping a rusty railing. He pulled himself onto the staris themselves and casually strolled down. The ladder wasn't extended, and he didn't feel like disturbing anyone with loud noise, so he swung himself over the railing and landed with a roll in the alley. He jogged through alleys and lesser travelled streets back to his small house in a quiet residential section of the city.   
  
    He set down his backpack in his sensible, minimalistic bedroom. He took off his skeleton suit and changed into his pajamas, then rested.


	3. Bulls on Parade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is quite a bit more serious and graphically violent, and focuses on a flashback from John's perspective of how him and Jasper met.

    Though Chris had decided to stay at Ed's, John left shortly after Jasper. It was going to be a long walk home by himself, and he was prone to daydreaming when bored. He slowed his pace and drifted into a reminiscing daydream.  
  
 _John tugged his balaclava, the only green thing in his all black outfit. Actually, the only green thing in the crowd of black-clad rioters marching in black bloc with him._  
  
 _"You look out of place," a tall, thin man in a skeleton mask next to him joked. They all were wearing headgear that didn't quite match their outfits; rarely does anyone own a mask that would go fashionably with riot gear. The closest anyone in the black bloc got were the few wearing authentic gas masks._  
  
 _In John's right hand, a black flag was balanced on his shoulder while in his left, a steel windproof lighter was opened. In his backpack were explosives and firework mortars. In the skeleton masked man's hands were a sledgehammer and a toolbox. The crowd parted around the large group, letting them march directly up to the line of riot police._  
  
 _John stared into the visor of the riot cop in front of him, and in that moment felt he had stared into where a human should be, but instead stood an embodiment of all he hated. And when he stared into that void, it did stare back into him. He pocketed his lighter and gripped his flag with both hands. He raised it high above his head and the shield of the cop, then kicked the shield as hard as he could. The cop pressed his shoulder against the shield to bash back, and when he did, John drove the spiked base of the flag down behind the shield, connecting between the cop's shoulder blades and sending him to the ground with a crack. John picked up the shield and gripped the flag again with one hand, raising it like a spear above his head._  
  
 _John looked to his left and noticed the skeleton masked man was wielding his sledgehammer with another large claw hammer, his toolbox nowhere to be found. He deftly threw the claw hammer at the side of a cop who had broken formation and exposed his side to him. It hit him with a sharp sound of crunching bone and the cop collapsed, and the man in the skeleton mask had already taken some of the black bloc and cut off a section of the line from the rest of it. John watched from behind his shield as the skeleton man went berserk with his sledgehammer and smashed apart the shields of three riot cops as the rest of the group that had been splintered from the main formation was pummeled into retreat. The skeleton-masked man went to chase the routing cops, but was stopped as a tear gas canister went off to cover their retreat. He stood still only for a moment before charging through it and climbing to the top of the riot van the police were in. He started bashing on the top of it with his hammer, but it quickly jolted into motion, and he hopped and rolled off of it as a hail of rubber bullets struck the side of the van. He sprinted off into the distance, pursued by none._  
  
 _John was so enthralled with the sheer chaotic valiance of what he had just witnessed that he had forgotten he himself was rioting. He handed his black flag off to the woman next to him, who was holding a lit Molotov cocktail in one hand already. He used his riot shield to cover himself as he took off after the skeleton masked man, dropping it once he was still in sight of him but out of the sight of the riot. He caught up to him and took off his balaclava._  
  
 _"Hey!" John yelled a bit louder than he intended. "Why'd you just leave?"_  
  
 _"Well," he said as he took off his mask to reveal a rather handsome face with some dark stubble and close-cut hair. Or at least, he would have looked handsome if it weren't for the face that had clearly just been exposed to far too much tear gas, with eyes bloodshot and watering and his entire face redder than the stop sign they were standing next to. "I figured I should tend to the whole 'tear gas is really fucking painful' thing first. I'll be back if it's still going on. Name's Jasper," he extended his shaking hand._  
  
 _John took it and simply replied, "John."_  
  
 _"If you wouldn't mind accompanying me to my house, John?"_  
  
 _"Gladly," John said without hesitation. Upon arriving from the long walk back to his house, John was astounded at how barren it was. He'd expected at least some macabre posters from someone made of the stuff he'd just seen._  
  
 _"Sorry about the bare-bones decor," he chuckled, setting his mask and hammer down on the coffee table, "I just moved here recently." He walked into his kitchen and grabbed a gallon of milk from the fridge, chugging some of it and pouring the rest of it on his puffy face. "Much better," he gasped, and dried his face with a dishrag. "Put your mask back on, we're not done yet."_  
  
 _John once again donned his balaclava as Jasper donned his skull mask and picked his hammer back up._  
  
 _"I noticed you had a neat lighter earlier," Jasper recalled, "I take it something in that backpack goes boom?"_  
  
 _"Indeed," John said, impressed, "State of the art fireworks and mortars to launch them from."_  
  
 _"Pyrotechnics? Nice. You do realize the Feds will get involved if you use them? They'll cite terrorist activity or some such nonsense."_  
  
 _"That's the plan," John retorted. He came out looking for a revolution._  
  
 _"Alright then. Say, would they be too complicated for me to use?"_  
  
 _"Not at all. Just point the mortar and light the fuse. Cover your ears if you value your hearing."_  
  
 _"Well I may not have demonstrated, but I am quite the acrobat. So, if I were to use the mortar from a vantage point of say, atop the bank..." he trailed off._  
  
 _John smiled deviously, "I like the way you think." He tossed Jasper his backpack and lighter. "But now I need a weapon."_  
  
 _Jasper tossed him the sledgehammer. "How the hell," John wondered out loud, surprised at the balance of the hammer._  
  
 _"Oh, right. It was too top heavy for my taste, so I replaced the original shaft with one I made myself. It's polished oak wood with a core of lead. You can wield it with either one or two hands."_  
  
 _When they got back to the scene of the riot, the majority of the police department, including two helicopters, were there. The crowd of protesters had tripled in size. Fires raged from the gutted skeletons of cars and buildings alike. Yelling from megaphones and cries of pain could be heard, as well as gunshots that could easily have been either rubber or live bullets. His nostrils stung from smoke and tear gas._  
  
 _A man with a sack full of equipment and a First Aid kit handed him a painter's mask and ski goggles, then gave him a thumbs up before moving on. Jasper had disappeared into the crowd. He put on his mask and goggles and moved his way to the front of the crowd._  
  
 _The cops were not taking names anymore. He was struck in the chest by several rubber bullets, knocking him back into the crowd but not doing any serious damage due to the baseball catcher's chest guard he was wearing beneath his clothes. He recovered himself and swung the hammer in an arc over his head and brought it down on the upper edge of the riot shield of the cop in front of him, cracking it down the middle. The cop tried to back up but John swung the hammer back up from the ground into the shield, shattering it._  
  
 _As the cop scrambled away and John readied another swing, he heard the unmistakable whistling of one of his fireworks sailing overhead. An explosion of red, white, and blue firework sparks erupted on a helicopter. The flames of the helicopter ripped through the sparks as another firework sailed into the second helicopter. It detonated in a massive shower of purple sparks that lingered as the helicopter fell next to the burning carcass of the other one._  
  
 _The crowd stood still, briefly, shocked, watching the purple trails land amongst them. The cops laid into the protesters with rubber bullets and tear gas. John ran towards the bank as another firework soared from the roof, this time aimed directly at the crowd of cops. Behind him, confusion and terror would be barely heard after the deafening blast. Yet another painted the air with a palette of chaos as he reached the bank._  
  
    Before John realized, it was late and he'd been sitting on his porch remembering for quite a while. He walked inside and put down his backpack and crashed on his couch.


	4. Scooter Gang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I figure this has gone long enough without an update; this chapter itself will be updated multiple times.

     The day after, Chris called them all over to Ed's house for a proposition.

   "Hear me out," Chris requested of the assembled crew, "Scooters. I'm not talking electric scooters, that shit's for pussies with no leg game. I'm talking push scooters. Full metal skeletons," Jasper's attention increased tenfold at the mention of skeletons, "With those comfy-ass foam handlebars. We'll wear our heist gear, and go around tearin' shit up." She took in the looks on everyone's faces. John was focused intently, leaning forward in his chair and resting his chin on his steepled hands. Ed was positively beaming by the last word. Jasper stood up immediately.  
  
    "Seconded!" he yelled.  
  
    "Thirded," Ed declared.  
  
    "Fourthed," John completed. "But there's a problem. We have no fucking scooters. At all."  
  
    "Ah but you see that is not a problem whatsoever, but a starting point," Ed began in a tone familiar to all of them, a tone that bespoke bad ideas, "We must simply head to a store that sells scooters in our heist gear, acquire four scooters in a manner befitting rogues, and promptly begin raising hell."  
  
    "Sounds good," Jasper and Chris agreed simultaneously.  
  
    "Ya know Ed you're gonna get us all fucking killed one day," John sighed, "And when are we gonna do this? I think we should wait until we aren't on every local news station before we start, so we can at least get far before we get arrested," he said, cynically.  
  
    "No, you see, now is precisely the perfect time for these shenanigans," Ed began, "And you truly underestimate both yourself and your company if you believe the cops are an issue. Jasper, as you've told me, is beyond capable of evading any man alive with his acrobatic methods of escape. You and I, John, share the quality of excellent adaptability; we would not have made it this far if this were not true. And Chris not only has an actual gang at her disposal if need be, but also has connections in absurdly high places should such connections be required."  
  
    John turned to Chris with calculating eyes, "A gang?"  
  
    "Ed, you didn't tell him?" She gasped, "I apologize for my companion's underwhelming introduction of me. Any and all reports of organized crime that make it to the news, especially the ones that do not make it to the news, are my organization's doing. I'd say I run this city, but it's not quite corrupt enough for me to have influence outside of crime. Though, I suppose, my 'connections' as Ed put it, do extend to a few corrupt officials."  
  
    "That would have been helpful during the heist," John stated flatly.  
  
    "It was. Jasper actually surprised me at how good of a distraction he was; he turned as much of the police towards him as a small riot caused by my organization did."  
  
    Jasper bowed, "My pleasure."  
  
    "We're getting off topic," Chris started, "And we have to start planning. Really there's not going to be purpose to this other than mayhem. It's been too long since I've had some good old fashioned chaos to break the monotony of high paying organized crime and bank heists. However, that does not mean we shouldn't take the proper precautions to keep ourselves alive and free. I'll get to work coordinating my organization. You all get your own affairs in order. Tomorrow, we ride."

    "But we have some affairs to sort out here first," Chris turned as she was leaving, taking her seat once again. Jasper, I need you to get a lot of really fucking powerful fireworks. Think enough to turn the city into a no-fly zone. John, I need you to prepare the most riot-causing speech to appeal to the inner anarchist in even the most content of society. Ed, work whatever magic you've worked so far that's kept you from ever getting caught. What I'm aiming for is to start a revolution and if that fails we're going to need whatever you've got going on."  
  
    "It's luck, love, to put it in a word," Ed winked, "But I'll see if I can stack the cards in our favor."  
  
    "Been a while since I've made a speech, but I'll do what I can," John's words stumbled clumsily out of his mouth, the revolution he'd been hoping for when he first met Jasper at hand in his mind.  
  
    Jasper simply nodded and said, "I'm gonna need a bigger bag," motioning to the hiking backpack he usually kept his fireworks in.  
  
    "And I'll arrange for our safety as per my organization. We're gonna need it."

    The next morning, the four of them met in the Cup o 'Cino, dressed down compared to usual. Though Ed was still in the same clothes he'd slept in and John was still dressed like a greaser who'd just gone through the world's largest paper shredder, Jasper was out of his costume and Chris was no longer wearing one of her impossibly well tailored suits. Jasper was instead wearing black jeans with a skeleton-print hoodie, while Chris was adorned with a plain gray hoodie and matching jeans.  
  
    They all carried backpacks which held their disguises, with the exception of Jasper. He had a rucksack best described as "unreasonably large" and "bearing an unsettling resemblance to a canvas body bag", comments made by Chris and Ed, respectively.  
  
    "No, what's unreasonable was what John told me to do, my response is reasonable. I had Chris arrange to carry the rest in another four fucking cars. This is just for show," he turned to regard the television behind the cafe bar, now displaying what they had decided was the signal.  
  
    "Police Chief Smith has informed the press that they've sent all the officers they could afford to deal with the riots in the residential district. He has declined further comment."  
  
    They got up and left for the nearest supermarket. At the edge of the nearly deserted parking lot, they all put on ski masks and tinted goggles. They walked in.  
  
    "Uh, excuse me?" a cashier called from a nearby register.  
  
    Ed turned and asked politely, his mask muffling his accent slightly, "Would you be so kind as to direct me to the scooters?"  
  
    "I, uh, scoot," the cashier stammered, "Furthest aisle on the right, near the end."  
  
    "Thank you, sir, now if you'd kindly step out from behind the register," Ed noticed the cashier had neglected to reach beneath the counter or make any attempts to inform officials, but was not about to take chances.  
  
    The cashier has just now completely realized what was going on. "Listen man this job isn't worth my life. Can I just leave?"  
  
    Ed pondered this for a moment, standing alone as his companions retrieved the scooters. The cashier was already out from behind the counter. "Terribly sorry, but no. Stay where you are with your hands visible. You may leave when I have my scooters."  
  
    As if on cue, three manned scooters rolled up behind him and a fourth coasted riderless into him, the metal stinging his ankle. He stepped on it and said to the cashier, "My thanks for your cooperation," and scooted out in formation with Chris, John, and Jasper.  
  
    They rode to the very center of the financial district, an expansive square of pavement barren except for a few benches and the disproportionately small fountain at the center.  
  
    John said, "This is a really fuckin' big district. You have enough fireworks?" he spoke accusingly to Jasper.  
  
    "Enough to announce our arrival in this bag. Chris is gonna have a convoy roll up to deliver the rest." He went to work setting up the fireworks.  
  
    When he set them off, he quickly yelled "Oh shit I forgot cover your ears!" and they all did so, thankfully, they acknowledged.  
  
    For a full minute, the sounds of the city went silent.  
  
    Completely silent.  
  
    John broke this unsettling silence with a megaphone, "To all the empty suits and ties, brainwashed and ignorant of the true enemy. You are convinced that these pigs are your allies. That they are here to protect you. It’s laughable! They're here to protect the state's assets. You. You are nothing but a number. A cog in their well oiled machine. You are government property. The government’s only interest is protecting its property. Do you believe you have no worth beyond what money you can produce for them? Is your safety worth being stripped of your humanity?" He paused. “Reject your number! Let this district fucking burn! Spit on the ashes of their machine. Show them all! Show them that you will not be stripped of your humanity. Prove that you're more than just numbers. Tear it down. Choose, choose now. Choose your humanity. Ignite change! Choose safety, leave now."  
  
    They could feel the eyes of the disgruntled office workers staring out at them from their steel towers. Four cars pulled up in front of them. Jasper practically squealed with joy as they all opened their trunks to reveal what John knew wasn't even a quarter of Jasper's collection of fireworks, but violated arms ordnances in most countries.  
  
    "Jasper are these even fireworks?" Chris laughed, "I think I see a fucking nuke."  
  
    "You know how fireworks can make shapes now? You won't be able to tell amidst the chaos the sky is about to become, but that one crudely forms the biohazard symbol," if they could see his eyes, they'd be blinded by the glimmer in them. "Fuck it I'll kick it off with that one."  
  
    In the fifteen minutes it took to set the show up, there were already smashed windows in every building. Computers thrown from hundreds of stories up lined the streets. Here and there, desks were on top of cars. Those less roused than frightened by John's speech were leaving in handfuls. The majority appeared to have had their inner anarchist thoroughly appealed to. Cop cars had shown up, but only three and they were staying well away from the carnage.  
  
    "Looks like they're spread too thin from the riots I set up in the residential district," Chris said proudly.  
  
    "Look to the skies!" Jasper yelled with absolute glee as the sky lit up with a red biohazard symbol. It hung for only seconds before a barrage of fireworks rent the sky. "That's gonna be going in that exact way for the next half hour!" Jasper yelled over the sound with unrestrained joy.  
  
    Cops were beginning to show up in larger numbers. There were now fires in the office buildings, and not a window in the entire district was left unsmashed. Not a desk was spared. The former contents of offices now provided decoration for the streets.  
  
    They decided it was time to go.  
  
    They hopped back on their scooters and made their way back to the Cup o 'Cino to watch the chaos with coffee.


End file.
